The Perils of Thinking Straight

"Thinking straight" is hard work for some kids - just getting through an average day is a feat of endurance and nuclear meltdowns can occur with worrying frequency. You might know someone like this (it might be your kid) and you are baffled as to why, for no apparent reason, they seem to melt down on a regular basis.

I'm writing this post to clue you in dear readers: mums, teachers, friends of people with kids like mine. I'm reminding us all that for kids whose brains are a bit quirky (like those with dyslexia or ADHD), thinking straight is hard work.

What I mean is, ordering your thoughts, sequencing your actions, forcing your jumping-about, big-picture brain to work in a straight, ordered line, day after day, hour after hour is flippin exhausting.
The daily routine of getting up, getting dressed and ready, getting out the door on time EVERY DAY is like running a marathon every single day, with no end in sight.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

This is Normal (apparently)

Sometimes everything works. Every now and then we have a day - or a few days in a row even! - where everything just flows. There are no meltdowns, no raised voices, no tears or tantrums. There is no reason to tear out my hair or wish human ears came with a volume control.
Sometimes, every now and then, I feel like a good mum. Like we've figured it out. Like we are winning.

And then there are the other days.
The days where nothing works.
The days where we are like kittens in a bag, scratching at each other. The days where if it's not one kid crying/shouting/fighting/whingeing, it's another. Scrapping and answering back. Needling each other. Melting down over the littlest things. I should be bald by now with the frequency of these days.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

A Ubiquitous Post about Change, New Schools & Time Flying

Look at them.
There they are all dressed up in strange new uniforms on the first day of school.
New schools for both, and a new era for us all.
One of them is off to High School. He is very chilled.
One of them is off to Intermediate. She is overwhelmed and struggling, trying to be brave.

I look at this photograph and my heart is kind of bursting. With pride, with love, with the need to throw my arms around them and squeeze them tight.
They are my babies. They are growing up. Way too fast.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

Dyslexic Brains are Good Brains Too

Hi, I'm Simone and I'm dyslexic. Did you know that about me?
Just typing the word, "dyslexic" it came out "dysexlic" the first time I wrote it.
But writing things backwards is not what makes me dyslexic. In fact, that was just a typo that may or may not have anything to do with my dyslexia.
Being dyslexic is very different to what most people think, if they think about it at all. Most people's understanding of dyslexia is typified by this joke (that I thought was really funny when when I first heard it, before I knew I was dyslexic)...

Hey did you hear the one about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac? 
He stayed up all night wondering if Dog really exists.
Yeah. Ha. Ha.

Most people (including teachers) think that dyslexia is struggling with reading, writing and spelling. Full stop.
Unfortunately for people who are dyslexic, they are only touching on a fraction of the issue.
In fact, they are missing the point altogether.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

How I Turned my Reluctant Readers into Book Lovers

Hi, my name is a Mrs Readalot and I'm a bookaholic. I gave birth to three energetic offspring who rarely sat still long enough to pick up a book. Not one of them showed any librarian tendencies. All of them were Reluctant Readers. It fair broke my heart, I tell you.
I've known since my youngest days the magic of books.
Books contain worlds. They expand our horizons. They let us inside other people's heads. Reading fiction even helps develop empathy (and combats narcissism).

"A recent study found that reading fiction helps people improve their empathy, because it encourages them to place themselves in others’ lives and understand their actions. In that way, reading is like traveling — with your mind." (Source)

For all these reasons and more I was desperate for my children to love books, I wanted them to enjoy rainy evenings snuggled in bed with a good book, nodding off to sleep as the rain pitterpatters on the roof and the book grows heavy in their hands, their eyelids droop and they slip into dreamland...

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

PARENTING: Detours, Road Blocks & Getting There Eventually

One of the hardest things about being a parent is watching your child struggle. It's tough having to stand by helplessly as the outside world distorts the way your precious kid sees themselves. It's gut-wrenching hearing them say things like, "I'm so stupid! I'm dumb! Why couldn't I be born smarter!"
Worst of all is when they really truly believe it - that just breaks your heart.

School is a pretty tough place to be sometimes. There's the fitting-in-socially struggle (and coming up against the kind of nasty kids who whisper things like "faggot" and"dumb-ass" when they think nobody's watching).
Even if your self-esteem is pretty robust, that can be pretty hard to take on a daily basis. Especially when the Kids Code of Silence has drummed into you: "Don't be a snitch".
So you suffer in silence and your parents are left wondering why you are moody and anxious and reluctant to get out of bed each morning.

That would be enough to deal with on its own.
But then there's the actual schoolwork. Academic effort. Maths. English. Science.
All the subjects that require you to write and calculate and remember and reason and recall endless facts and methods and weird names for things. And then they test you and grade you and compare you to everyone else in the class/grade/country.
At that point, when you know you've tried so hard to learn the stuff they've been trying to teach you, well those test-results can be pretty soul-destroying.

Some kids just struggle at school, full stop.
I have kids like that. And the further into school they get, the more difficult they find it, the more anxious they become and the more trouble I have getting them up every morning.

My kids have my brain. The dyslexic bit that makes remembering stuff difficult, that makes maths numbers slide out of your head like slippery fish. The kind of brain that makes you feel like you're forever missing the point, not quite fitting in. The kind of brain that needs to experience and see and do before you can understand something new. The kind of brain that gets confused by long technical explanations. It's called a low working memory, and slow processing speed (dyslexic traits).

On top that my kids have ADHD. Yep, that's brand new information, and it makes SO MUCH SENSE. (They are highly physical, easily distracted, easily bored, passionate, impulsive, emotional and high energy). But this post is not about that.

This post is about a conversation I had with my son the other day as I attempted to drive him to school (late) in the middle of rush hour. His school is a half hour bus ride away, so when he missed it I had to take him, at the busiest time of the morning.
Every road we turned down had traffic backed up, jammed, not moving.
Rather than sitting stuck in traffic, going nowhere, I turned the car around, tried another road.
More traffic backed up! This was worse than usual. Was it caused by an accident? Road works? Who knew!
So we took another detour, tried another route.

As we drove, we talked.
He told me how he felt about school, why he didn't want to go. He told me how he got some grades back the day before, and had compared his grades to those of his classmates. He told me how he watched others in his class quickly clicking onto a new maths concept, while he sat there in confusion with his brain fizzing. He told me how disappointed he was when he worked really hard on an English project and thought he'd done well... until he got his results.
He felt like it just wasn't worth trying. Like he couldn't ever get it.
"Why can't I be smart? Why am I so dumb?" he said.
And my heart broke for him as I pulled another u-turn and tried another road.

Then, light-bulb.
All these detours, all this blocked traffic is exactly what happens in my brain - and his.
We hit a mental road block and have a choice: Stay stuck in traffic or try another way.
Again and again it happens.
But if we keep refusing to stay stuck, if we keep turning around and trying another route, WE WILL GET THERE EVENTUALLY!

So that's what I told my son. My frustrated, discouraged, brilliant son who is a genius with a ball at his feet and who can read a game and create goal opportunities like no-one else.
My son is a genius in his own way. He has things he is amazing at. Like the way he engages with little kids and the way he has insights and asks questions about deep stuff that just doesn't usually occur to kids his age.

I told him, Don't give up. School can be rough when your brain works in a different way. Just take it one day at a time.
There's no pressure from me or dad. We've got your back, you're not alone.
When you hit a learning road block, we'll try another route. When you feel stuck, we'll try something else. And you will get there eventually.
Because you are smart. You are clever. You are amazing at lots of things.
And nobody is expecting you to be an accountant or a brain surgeon.
You just need to figure out what YOU are a genius at, and do what you can about the rest.

Because as Albert Einstein said so brilliantly:

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

I think it helped.
And we were only ten minutes late for school, because I found the best back street route, no traffic jams. (We might take the long way round but we get there in the end).

................

**P.S. The bullying was finally disclosed, and the school notified. In the meantime, as I've put into practise being the squeaky wheel, they are supporting my son amazingly with new inclusion in two great programmes, B-Cool and Boyzone. Very grateful for a supportive school guidance counselor and a great form teacher. It pays to be a squeaky wheel! 

P.P.S.: The ADHD diagnosis for my son is in place of an earlier one which suggested mild Aspergers traits; this has now been discounted. It has also been suggested that Dyslexia in some form has gone undiagnosed, which is what we thought all along.

P.P.P.S.: My son gave me permission to share this story as long as I didn't mention his name. But he wanted this photo added in!

• My DYSLEXIA Diagnosis: Taking the Long Way Round
• The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil: Learning to Speak up for My Kids

"The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil" (finding my voice)

Something's changed in me over the past year or so.  I've always been a scaredy cat, never one to rock the boat, speak up or make waves. Ask anyone who knows me. Unlike so many other Lioness Mothers who would roar if anyone stepped out of line round her cubs, I was always more of a Mouse.

If I had to speak up, whether to a teacher, a bully or a fellow parent I'd be shaking so bad I'd lose my words and feel like I was going to vomit. I just hated "confrontation".

But over the past year or so I've noticed that I no longer procrastinate and avoid confrontation. I've become better at speaking up with teachers, family and coaches (it doesn't even make me want to vomit anymore).

Instead of staying silent and hoping for the best, I've begun asking for what I want, because I've realised this earth shattering truth: The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil.

It started when one of my kids was struggling at school, miserable. At first I felt powerless and overwhelmed; I didn't know what to do but I knew I had to do something, talk to someone, so I gathered my courage and headed to school.

I remember sitting in the office of the department head stammering out my concerns about my child's anxiety and bursting into tears. Right there in her office.

This lovely H.O.D. gave me an hour of her time, listened to my concerns, handed me tissues and reassured me that they would work to support my child in a number of new ways.
It wasn't so hard, this talking thing.

A week later I met with her and the child's teacher again and she presented me with two charts, depicting my child's progress so he could see in colour just how far he'd come. When I told the H.O.D. later that he was calling those charts "my treasures" and sleeping with them under his pillow, tears sprang into her eyes.

I was learning that a little bit of squeaking will get your wheel oiled.
A little bit of asking will get results. It's not that hard, once I get over myself.
And if I don't squeak for them, nobody else will.

After all, the H.O.D. has hundreds of kids to think about; the teacher has thirty. I'm the only one with just my own kids' interests at heart.

In the sea of faces my child's struggle might not be apparent to the teacher he/she is trying so hard to please. The teacher doesn't see my child fall apart at the end of the day, after using all their energy working so hard to stay on task and just keep up. The teacher doesn't have to drag my child out of bed as they wail, "I don't wanna go! I hate school!" The teacher doesn't have to wipe their tears of frustration and talk them down from the bridge of self-doubt, patch up their shattered self-esteem and send them out to face the world again... I DO.

I have to live with these children, so it's worth being a squeaky wheel if it means happier kids who know their mama has got their back.

I may not like "confrontation" or "making waves" but there's a nice way to do things.
Being a squeaky wheel doesn't mean becoming demanding or difficult. It just means becoming my child's advocate and speaking up on their behalf, which I can do with a smile on my face. Being pleasant and reasonable-but-determined will probably get me further than being antagonistic and bolshy anyway!

I've now lost count of how many times I've been up to school in the past year. I rarely used to go up there, relying on school reports, and the inadequate twice-yearly parent teacher interviews.

No longer.
Now as soon as there's a ripple I'm there. Talking to the teacher, clarifying the situation, getting information, helping them to know my children and understand their needs,
I'm now one of "those" parents... in the nicest possible way.

The more I talk to my kids' teachers, the better the relationships with the teachers become and the easier it gets to talk to them. (And the more positively they'll work with my kids too).

This worked to the point last year where I knew Miss Fab's teacher well enough to invite him to come watch her perform in the church Christmas production - and he came.

It's so freeing, not being scared anymore. Having found my voice I don't just use it to advocate for my kids at school, oh no.

It translates into other areas of life as well.
Like I noticed that with life being so busy, we were hardly ever getting to see my parents. There was just not enough grandparent-time and I worried that if we didn't set aside some regular time to connect, one day I'd look back and regret that my kids never got to know my parents before they were gone.


I could sit around feeling sad and resentful or I could ask for what I wanted for my kids and take the risk that I might get knocked back...

So I baked some muffins, took my coffee machine with me and went to my folks to ask for what I wanted: dinner with them once a week. Regular time for my kids to spend with them hanging out, getting to know them.

...I wasn't knocked back. As of last week, every Thursday night Nan and Grandad will come for dinner. I cook, they play. Last week it was Monopoly Empire, homemade spaghetti and stories after dinner. There are plans for bike rides with Grandad, card games and more.
We all said goodbye at the end of our first night with a warm fuzzy glow, with the kids agreeing "This was fun!"; I believe it's the start of a beautiful thing.

I'm so thankful that I've learned to speak up.
After all those timid years of being afraid of knock-backs or angry confrontations, it's a pleasant surprise to learn that I can still be me, but a bolder Squeakier version of myself.
After all, what have I got to lose really, by speaking up? If I ask for something and the answer is no, have I lost anything apart from a bit of pride?
No I haven't.
But I stand to gain so much for my kids when I lose my fear and find my voice.

I may not ever be a roaring Lioness Mother but I can be a Squeaky Wheel.

...........................

More Motherhood-Learning-Curve Posts

• So I Yelled... 
• Stuff You Learn at a Skate Park
• Ten Cool Things About Motherhood
• Getting Over Myself 
• To Young Me from Old Me...

On a Mission to Reduce Sugar (and wall bouncing)

MISSION LOG STAR DATE 0914: Our mission to reduce sugar in the inmates' diet has been under way for twelve days. This is a delicate operation requiring tact, determination and NASA-quality earplugs (in the inevitable event of whining and complaining). Phase One of our enterprise is almost complete ("Mission Reduce-the-Crap"). Phase Two ("Mission Replace-the-Crap-with-Goodness" is being met with some resistance, but we will persevere in our quest for reduced sugar, hopefully leading to reduced chaos. 
-----End of Transmission----

Hello earthlings and fellow sugar-reducers.
I was kind of blown away by the response to my Nigel Latta/Sugar Free story the other week - it would seem that a lot of you saw that show and had the same reaction that I did: A feeling of horror (at the amount of sugar in EVERYTHING) and a new determination to change things up and reduce the sugar.

I had so many messages from friends and readers who are passionate about healthy eating, as well as from those of you who are more like me (just horrified and anxious) and loads of people shared links to awesome sugar-free recipes; it was inspiring.

I did have to be careful not to be overwhelmed by all the information, and all the recommendations. My super-healthy friends (and those who had read the "I Ditched Sugar" website) recommended ditching ALL sugar, not replacing refined sugar with "better sugar" (e.g. honey). According to the website ALL sugar is bad. Get rid of it all.

But I know what I'm like.
I might lose the will to live if I eliminated ALL TREATS OVERNIGHT!
It has to be baby steps. Bit by bit. Layer upon layer. Phase by phase.

[In case you missed it the first time, here's my sugar-content graphic. Eek, right?]

Phase One is Reduce the Crap.
Instantly I stopped buying all the packeted stuff that gave me the heebie jeebies once I knew their sugar content. Goodbye Nutrigrain, Up'n'Go, and Uncle Toby's flavoured instant oats.
We're back to plain oats, Weetbix, rice bubbles and cornflakes for breakfast.
Knowing what my kids are like, I told them, "This is the last of the Nutrigrain/Up'n'go/flavoured oats; make the most of it cos when it's gone it's gone and I won't be buying any more."

See how I did that? My sugar-crazed brood would riot if I just ripped these things away. I gave them warning. Time to absorb the new regime. Time to savour that last bowl of sugar cereal, knowing it was goodbye.

Baby steps.
I know some of you braver souls would have tipped that evil Nutrigrain down the insinkerator as the sobbing natives looked on. You would have been able to stand your ground when the rioting started and pushed through to victory... but me (coward that I am) I choose a slower path with less resistance. We all get there in the end.

See I know my kids. They're a quirky bunch, emotional, volatile, stubborn. Sometimes parenting them requires all the delicate skill of a bomb defuser, and all the protective protocols of working on a nuclear reactor.
As I've mentioned briefly (so briefly you might have missed it) we have various spectrum issues complicating life round here, which leads me to believe that reducing the sugar can only help the level of emotional volatility. Energy and emotions often run high and reactions to small upsets can be truly nuclear.

I am so very curious to see whether having less sugar in the kids' diet will, in fact, lead to a calmer, less emotionally-volatile home. And oh boy, am I so very hopeful that it will.

So far, since we are doing things so slowly and the sugar is gradually reducing as the packaged crap runs out (never to be replaced) it's hard to know whether it's making a difference or not. Time will tell.

[Super healthy Oat & banana cookies with dark choc chips were rejected by my offspring]

Meantime, I am hard at work on...

Phase Two: Replace the Crap with Good Stuff.
This is where I have hit a few roadblocks, as I've tested recipes which held so much promise but were roundly rejected by most of the inhabitants.

I made the oat and banana cookies with high hopes (I'd added peanut butter and dark choc chips for flavour). They all made puking sounds and refused to touch them, apart from Dash, who put one in his lunch box (out of sympathy for my efforts, I think?). I might try tweaking that recipe, add some date honey for sweetness, try again. They are just too healthy (and EASY) to give up so easily.

I made my famous sugar free blueberry-honey muffins one morning before school. Yes you heard me. I got up early and BAKED. It was some kind of miracle, but it proved to be all for nowt. Two out of three muffins came back home, with complaints that "they were cold by the time it was morning tea". Well, DUH!
Dash though, he said, "Bake them for me mum! I love them!"
Bless. (He's been so receptive to this whole sugar-free thing which is amazing, given that he's always been such a fussy eater).

I made a loaf of Leonie's bread. Not in the breadmaker, by hand. It was easy to make, and it smelled amazing. I broke off a bit of the crust and it tasted divine. I had high hopes and thought "I could do this every day!"
But I took it out of the oven too soon. It was still doughy and gluggy in the middle. The kids tried it and made faces. "Your bread tastes funny mum," they said. I haven't tried making it again.

And then there were the cocoa & peanut butter cookies which looked so good, smelt so good baking... and then burnt on the bottom. The recipe DID say "keep a close eye on them cos they burn easily." Yep, they do. So When they'd cooled I scraped the burnt bottoms off and handed them round... "Yuck mum, they taste like peanut butter!" "They're not sweet enough, they need some sugar!" ("That's the whole point! I'm trying to reduce sugar!") "Well I like them, mum..."

Sigh.

["Date honey": a packet of dates + a cinnamon stick in a pot, cover with water and simmer
until liquid reduces then blend & keep in the fridge]

I will persevere, keep trying recipes, keep looking for healthier low sugar treats I can serve my family.
In the meantime we have made great strides on the lunchbox front in spite of my mixed results with the baking. I keep a box each of carrot sticks and celery sticks in water in the fridge, it can be easily accessed and grabbed as a snack. The level of fruit-eating has increased. They've started putting better ingredients in their sandwiches (ham, grated cheese, spinach).

As the crap options run out they're being forced to add healthier snack options, like crackers, popcorn, nuts. Smoothies are now made with plain yogurt and frozen fruit; plain cartons of unflavoured milk are replacing the sugary Up'n'Go and - get this - they have actually dished themselves up SPINACH SALAD at dinner time. And eaten (some of) it. Uh-May-ZING.

This morning as I checked their lunch boxes I felt a little glow of satisfaction. They are a world away from what was in them two weeks ago. We will get there. We are making lasting changes, bit by bit.
And if this Lazy Mother can do it so can you, my friend. So can you.

An InLinkz Link-up

"Nigel Latta for Prime Minister!" (going sugar-free)

Nigel Latta rocks so much it's not funny. (Apologies to my non-New Zealand readers who haven't been able to experience the awesomeness of Nigel.) For those of you who don't know him, Nigel Latta is a down-to-earth New Zealand psychologist who has written brilliant, hilarious helpful books on parenting and fronted in-depth investigative TV shows on everything from NZ's criminal element to family violence to... sugar. He's not reactionary, he doesn't have an axe to grind, he understands humans and he just plain makes sense.

Hubby and I have been recording Nigel's latest (brilliant) series and watching it together. Last night's show rocked our world. It was all about how much sugar is in our food and the health effects and cost to the country of diabetes, tooth decay and obesity caused by the sweet stuff.
According to Nigel and the various health experts who shared their knowledge on the documentary, sugar is hidden in almost everything, because it's cheap.
The low-fat revolution made everyone want fat-reduced, but as Nigel's expert said, "When you take the fat out, stuff tastes like cardboard, so they had to add something. And what they added was SUGAR."
And sugar, apparently is way way worse than fat.
It's yummy, it's a treat, it's in all our favourites (chocolate, icecream, lollies) and it's addictive. (Our brain craves more and more of it).
Sugar has been added to tomato sauce, mayonnaise, yoghurt and baked beans. It's even hiding in Marmite!
Of course the worst culprit of them all is pretty obvious: Sugary drinks. Fizzy drinks. Coke. Cheaper than water, these fizzy drinks are easy to drink and cheap to buy. Kids love them, and they star at every birthday party (oops).
As a country we are fatter and unhealthier than ever before. 60% of New Zealand adults are obese and 30% of children! Eek!

[source]

Mr G has been niggling me about the amount of sugar in our kids' diet ever since a couple of our kids have been diagnosed on various spectrums (we have a crazy happy mix of aspergers, ADHD and dyslexia in our clown-house, something I have not blogged about because the kids don't want me to. I'm telling you this without naming names - and I'm on that list too).
Diet is something that can make a big difference, apparently. But I've been dragging my heels because the easy options are... easier. And I am not a fan of spending hours in the kitchen baking (you know that, right?)
I am not the mum who bakes her own bread (I have an abandoned breadmaker sitting neglected in my cupboard who will back me up on that). I pull out my favourite recipes for parties, I occasionally dabble in new recipes when entertaining, and I struggle to get excited about producing a nutritious meal every.single.night.
I follow lots of people on Instagram who are always baking and sharing their latest sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free efforts and I think, Wow, good on them, as the guilt taps me on the shoulder.
Being a self-confessed Lazy Mother is not a guilt-free state of mind. Shortcuts are not usually the best option for healthy living.

[source]

So when my hero NIGEL started shining the light on the hideousness of all that sugar in our diets, I started squirming a little.
Hubby was prodding me from the other couch: "Are you listening to this?" "Did you get that?"
Oh yeah, I did.

When the programme had finished and I sat reeling from the images of two-year-olds who had been bottle-fed Coke, having their teeth extracted under general anaesthetic ("Did you see that?" hubby said. "But our kids teeth are GOOD!" I replied)...
...after seeing Nigel himself fail a blood test when he considered himself a healthy eater who exercises regularly ("And you don't exercise," hubby reminded me "HMNFHHH!" I muttered.)
...after watching people who had gone sugar-free drop dozens of kilos and have loads more energy and still be able to eat delicious-but-healthy food, and seeing Nigel himself go sugar free and improve his blood results after three months...
...well I couldn't ignore it when Nigel said it, could I?

Hubby dragged me out to the kitchen and proceeded to quiz me on the contents of our pantry.
"How many teaspoons of sugar do you think is in this?" he asked, waving a yoghurt pottle.
"Um, three?"
"Four."

"How many teaspoons in this?" (Up'n'Go liquid breakfast drink)
"Four?"
"Five."

And so it went on.

Almost everything I thought was OK to put in the kids' lunch boxes (or give them for breakfast) is loaded with sugar.
The recommended healthy level of sugar is just seven teaspoons per day.
SEVEN! (and nine for adult males).

I'm in trouble here, people. Seriously big changes need to be made.
I'm going to have to research sugar-free recipes, natural sweetener alternatives and ditch the easy-option nasties.

I'd love to have your help, all you sugar-free health gurus, who make your own gluten-free bliss balls and homemade muesli bars. Sugar-free cookie recipes - do they exist?
Homemade yoghurt toppings (I'll be buying plain yoghurt from now on) - I need your recipes.

Please share your recipes with me and my readers! Leave a link to your healthy recipe blog posts on the linky or in a comment or email me (greatfun4kids@live.com). I will be eternally grateful.

An InLinkz Link-up

P.S. I sure wish Nigel was standing in the election. I'd vote Nigel Latta for prime minister anyday.


HELPFUL ARTICLES I FOUND WHILE CREATING THIS BLOG POST:
10 Tips for Packing healthy School Lunches (on BlogHer)
Children's Breakfast Cereal Sugar & Health Guide (on The Parents Jury)

Mountains, Motherhood and Me

Mountains have always been metaphors for life.
Mountains and problems both loom over us, just begging to be conquered.
Once the mountain is climbed, the view from the top is amazing; the climb, well worth the effort.
Once the problem is surmounted, the victory is deeply satisfying; the struggle is worth every tear shed.
Isn't that true?

We went to the mountains last week. Its kind of a family ritual; go to the snow, freeze your face off and experience deep family bonding 2700m above sea level.

Last year Dash learned to ski. This year Daddy upped the ante. Everybody - EVERY BODY - was going to have a go skiing, including Miss Fab, Scrag... and me.

I haven't skiied in fifteen years, and even then I only attempted it once - maybe twice - but Daddy said it would be good for the kids to see me having a go instead of just taking photos.
Plus it would be good for family bonding.

It's hard to argue with that logic, so I found myself wrestling my nervous feet into hired ski boots and getting measured up for skis. At this point I was still in denial.

(DENIAL: Not unlike the way I grew a human in my belly for nine months but was blissfully unaware of what was about to hit me once that squawling infant made his debut on the planet. Parenting: Nothing Prepares You For It.)

[On the chairlift: blissfully unaware]

Anyhoo, back to the mountain...
We get on the chairlift clutching our skis, swing out over the abyss... and the chairlift grinds to a halt. Down below us, they are loading an injured skier on. We hang suspended in the air while they strap down her stretcher, then the lift starts up again and the injured lady on her stretcher swings up past us...
At the bottom, the cheerful Englishman who helps us leap clear says breezily, "Don't be alarmed by what you've just seen. It happens every day, but I'm sure you'll do just great..."

(Thanks for that vote of confidence, pal.)

Meanwhile Daddy has forgotten that it's been fifteen years since I clipped into skis. He's under the impression I know what I'm doing (cos he taught me 15 years ago), so he leaves me and Miss Fab in the vicinity of the kids lesson and skis merrily away with the boys.
Miss Fab is joining in with the kids lesson, but where does that leave me? I don't even remember how to put my skis on.
I stand like a deer in the headlights clutching my skis and poles. I don't know where to start. I am clueless.

(CLUELESS: Kind of like sometimes as a mum, when one or other of your kids is struggling and you have no clue how to help them. When you feel paralysed, swamped and overwhelmed, and you wish with all your heart somebody handed out instruction manuals with babies).

Feeling like a bit of a dufus, I watch what the kids are doing and I see how they clip into their skis. I watch as the instructor gets them to practise with just one ski on, one ski off.
"I can do that," I think, so I try it; I'm scooting around in a circle on one ski, the biggest dork in Happy Valley.

At last I spot Daddy and screech out his name. He comes over and is perplexed that I am so clueless, helpless. Haven't I done this before? Don't I remember what to do?
Um, apparently not.
Some things just don't come back to you naturally, this is not like riding a bike. We are halfway up a steep mountain, I have long slippery skis stuck awkwardly to my feet, I've never been known for my athleticism or coordination and gravity has always been out to get me. I'm afraid this could turn ugly.

(TERRIFYING SPEED: Kind of similar to the way the childhood years are sliding away from me in an ever-increasing rush, while I'm still trying to get a handle on how to do this this parenting thing properly. As the teenage years hurtle towards us, I'm afraid things could get messy...)

Daddy decides that the best way for me to remember what to do is to copy him. After parking Scrag on the side of the hill (he's had enough already and just wants to go sledding), my hubby begins my ski re-introduction, pulling me down the hill behind him by my ski poles.
The ground races by, my life flashes before my eyes, gravity is poised to strike... but somehow I reach the bottom relatively unscathed, sliding past my hubby and landing a heap; to add insult to injury there's snow down the back of my neck.

I hated every second of it. I want off this mountain. The ski boots are hurting my ankles and I can no longer feel my toes. Skiiing, shmee-ing. Get me outta here.

"I don't want to do this," I tell him. "I CAN'T do this. I'm too old, too unfit, too un-co. Flippin heck, I'm 44 years old! Too old to learn. Can't I just go sledding with Scrag...!?!?"

Daddy is not fazed.
"You're not too old, and you CAN do this. You NEED to do this. Your kids need to see you giving this a go and not giving up. This will be good for you. You have to try. You can't quit cos then they'd think they can quit (plus, I paid all that money to hire your gear after all)..."

I sigh. There's that logic again; there's simply no arguing with it. I have to suck it up and persevere.

(SUCK IT UP: Kind of like how some days as a mum you feel like you are simply the worst-equipped person to be these children's mother and how you are completely lacking in the necessary patience, skills and insight and how if someone had told you what you were in for... well... but you can't go there and you can't quit so you just have to suck it up and do the best you can. End of Pity Party.)

In the end I sign up for a lesson. There are three of us, all women, all nervous and equally un-co. We are in good company. Our instructor takes it slowly, and she says something which makes all the difference to me.

When you are scared of falling you pull back, shifting your body weight backwards, which means your centre of gravity is wrong and you lose control of your skis, making you more likely to actually fall.
The boots are designed for you to lean forward. When you lean forward and relax you will have greater control.

Don't pull back in fear (and therefore lose control). Lean forward, relax... and the rest will follow.

(Do I need to spell out the parenting metaphor or do you see it too?)

I got it.
I leaned forward, did my best to relax... and found that I DID NOT DIE (or get stretchered off the mountain in a helicopter).
Gravity did not get me. In fact, after I learned to lean forward, I didn't even fall once.

[wonderful to watch brother and sister skiing together]

Not only did I get it, but Miss Fab got it too, confidently swishing down the slope like she was born to it.
And since Dash learned to ski last year, now everyone but Scrag can ski. (He'd had enough after an hour and went sledding; Next year will be his year; he just needs to learn to lean forward. And relax).

At the end of a very long, trying but triumphant day, Daddy couldn't resist asking me, "So aren't you glad you didn't quit?"

Oh yes I am. Glad for so many reasons.
I proved to myself that I could do it.
I showed my kids their mum can learn something new.
I modelled perseverance.
I learnt (again) how to ski.

It was a day on the mountain full of memorable moments and blog-worthy metaphors.

So we celebrated with high tea and hot chocolate at the Chateau...

And next year we'll all be back here on skis, defying gravity.

• Last Year's Memory-making Mountain Adventure (Two Lads and a Little Girl)
• My New Zealand Adventure Page

  

Meanness, Vulnerability and Social Media (a mother's rant)

All he wanted for Christmas was an iPod 5. After much negotiation, a handy discount and some birthday money thrown in, we wrapped up the device and put it under the Christmas Tree.

(He's 11, off to Intermediate, all his friends have them).

There were rules of course. No Facebook. A private profile on Instagram. We know his passwords, follow his feed and regularly screen his posts, checking for swearing, bullying, rudeness and other dodgyness in the posts of those he follows. Anyone we see doing anything less than kosher is immediately deleted and blocked. And if he were to be found participating in anything dodgy? He would lose his right to an Instagram account. Those are the rules, which he agreed to and followed.

So my feed is dotted with his selfies, and we check his account on a regular basis. A few people have been deleted along the way - some swearing, some minor rudeness - enough to block them but nothing sinister.
Until last night.

He comes into the kitchen holding his ipod, his shoulders slumped.
"I've just been bullied on Instagram..." he says.
Parenting protective radar kicks in.
We grab the device and pepper him with questions: who? what? how?

It seems that no matter how many rules and boundaries you put in place to protect your child, nothing can completely shield them from meanness that gets personal.

We're not even talking trolls or cyber-stalkers here, but a couple of immature kids who once played on his football team.

It all started with one of those silly "vote them out" games kids play on IG. Someone puts up a collage of faces, tags in a bunch of their friends and then invites people to "vote them out". The last kid standing gets TEN CENTS and winner's kudos. Ha. Silly, right?
Yes, but not harmless. Not when you vote someone out and they turn on you with viciousness in a personal attack. Then it's not a silly game for ten cents and bragging rights - then it can be crushing.

"F U Dash! Your just a stupid crybaby who cries every time they get beat in soccer!"

It was like a knife to the heart when I read what that boy wrote. He has no idea what my child goes through or what it has taken to get to the place where he can manage his emotions. He has a vulnerability, an Achilles heel (most of us do) and that boy turned a silly game into a personal attack on a weak point.

It hurts to be judged. It hurts to be misunderstood.
All of us have been there at times, and the online world is riddled with people who are quick to judge and quick to condemn. That makes it a potentially dangerous place for those who are vulnerable.

I'm not at liberty to share with you Dash's struggle (though he has bravely shared with his whole class, he doesn't want me to "tell the whole world" here on my blog, so I respect his wishes). Suffice it to say that the message that boy posted so publicly on Instagram calling my son a cry baby attacked him right where he wears no armour.

Another boy joined in at that point, agreeing with the first boy. Both previous team-mates. Both boys who had seen my son in his weakness and judged him for it.
(I deleted and blocked both boys immediately. Dash just doesn't need people like that looking over his shoulder, commenting on his life and judging it).

Afterwards, as I rubbed my son's back and tried to let words of encouragement pour oil on his wounds I talked to him about how far he's come, how hard he's worked, how much progress he's made.
How he doesn't need to let other people's judgement take away from who he is.

This article makes me sick to my stomach - the author has obviously never experienced depression or
she would never have written such a pile of nasty drivel. Poor Charlotte Dawson,
still hounded and misunderstood even when she's dead. Shame on you Deborah Hill Cone! But then she apologises here -
after getting a rather awful taste of Charlotte's medicine in the backlash that followed -
which goes to show that what goes around comes around. Well done Deborah Hill Cone. Apology accepted.

And I told him the story of Charlotte Dawson. Hounded by trolls and the media. More vulnerable than most to nastiness, as the Black Dog of depression chased her down. If only she could have not listened to those who were kicking her where she was weakest (deleted her Twitter account?) then maybe she wouldn't have gotten so low that she took her own life.

But sometimes we are drawn back to the source of the pain, like a mouth ulcer we just can't help poking our tongue into. We can't leave it alone. And for people like poor Charlotte whose vulnerability is out in the open for all the world to see, they are sitting ducks for the nasty side of human nature.

There's nothing I hate more than meanness and bullying. I despise it.
I know that it is out there in the world, running rampant through social media and the schoolyard - so what will my response be in order to protect my children?
Will I throw the baby out with the bathwater, and delete my son's Instagram account completely because there is a chance he might come across meanness? Because he is more vulnerable than most?
I will if I have to but at this point I think we can both learn a lot from the experience.

We can keep doing what we've been doing. Keep a close eye on things, talk things through, respond quickly and model wisdom, common sense and kindness.
We can give good advice (and then follow it ourselves): Keep the mean rude people as far away from you as possible. Pick and choose your friends carefully (both online and in real-life). Don't invite trouble. Don't engage in debate with people who misjudge you and say cruel things - walk away and cut those meanies out of your life. Don't repay back evil for evil, because then they have succeeded in dragging you down to their level.

I told Dash I don't want him joining in those Instagram games anymore. He can't help it if people tag him, but I don't want him to participate. No voting. No commenting.

Social media can be fun but it can turn nasty in seconds. Vote out the wrong person on a silly game and they can turn on you, kicking you where it hurts.

Social media is a huge part of today's landscape; There is meanness in the online world and there are bullies; I want my son to learn how to cope with both when he comes across them, rather than run screaming for the hills and simply ban everything.

Social media in and of itself is neutral - it's as evil or as good as the people using it.
My job as a parent is to guide my child through the minefield and teach him how to conduct himself well and bounce back from the knocks while providing boundaries to protect him as much as possible.

What would you have done in this situation? Have you experienced any cyber bullying - either you or your kids? What has been your response?